So, what’s buggin’ me, you ask?
Moving to Georgia from Florida, I have discovered a shocking revelation. Florida has nothing over Georgia when it comes to vermin. I only thought I had previous bad experiences with COCKROACHES. I know now that the roaches I encountered in Florida were mere annoyances. In Georgia, they reign with a Biblical proportion, plague-like infestation of the entire state.
The funny thing about people everywhere (not just Georgia), is that they all deny ever having had even one little roach in their house, garage, or even daring to enter their property. I know better. Everyone in Georgia has roaches. Maybe not the fortunate people who live in the north Georgia mountains, but I would bet all of Trump’s millions (or thousands, depending on the day) that every single soul living in Middle Georgia has ’em. I’m sure of it.
These Middle people refer to “The Season.” I asked a co-worker from where in the world the roaches were swarming back in May of my first “Season” here. “Oh, it’s ‘The Season,’” she explained.
“‘The Season,'” I repeated incredulously.
“Yes, it’s ‘The Season.'” Then an awkward silence ensued.
“Can you explain?” I begged.
“No, not really. It’s just ‘The Season.'”
I immediately set out to find a solution that would end their miserable little pre-historic lives, or at least keep them out of my house. I searched the internet, but mostly found “green” ways to deal with them. Don’t get me wrong. I really do have a keen interest in saving this third rock I’ve become quite fond of. It’s just that I don’t want some weakened formula or snake oil that promises to rid-a-bug o’ my lady’s home of the pestilence only to come up short when time to deliver their disgusting little dead carcasses.
Of all the people I sought advice from, none of them ‘fessed up to hosting the little bastards in their own homes. I heard stories about how their Auntie June-Bug used boric acid and annihilated the little sons-a-ma-bitches for good. There were also stories about using different insecticides currently on the market. Then my son told me to get Ortho Home Defense, swearing that it worked – like magic. He didn’t have roaches in his house either. Seems like nobody does except me.
So off to the Home Depot I went in search of the miracle insecticide. It was on sale and I couldn’t wait to get home to try it out. I saturated the garage, the attic, and several plots of my yard that I divided into scaled down versions of a battle field. I pulled up a lawn chair in full expectation of a showdown. A duel. A fight. I wanted to see their legs straight up in the air as they gasped for their last breath on their backs writhing with the nerve gas they had just ingested. I waited. And waited some more. No death-defying last ditch efforts to escape. No dead bugs either. I wasn’t sure if the stuff was working or if “The Season” had just ended. I repeated this ritual every month on the first day of the month. After the third month, I did find a couple of the nasty beings in my garage, but heck, they could’ve died of old age. I had no proof this stuff was working.
In the meantime, my daughter and I staged the nightly ritual of fighting for our lives against the invasion of the demons on six legs. We took turns watching them with the number one rule always observed, “Never, ever take your eyes off of them.” She never killed them. She only shrieked in terror as I became the mighty warrior armed with a shield, sword and can of Raid. Finally one day out of desperation, because her warrior (me) was at work, Daughter committed the bravest act ever. She threw her shoe on one of the monsters killing it instantly. She had surpassed my ability to kill them, which included only three methods: a broom, a vacuum cleaner, or a can of bug spray. I cannot, will not, step on them, smash them with my hand (even if it does have a glove on it), or pick them up after the battle.
After a two-hour exhausting, but successful attack on one of the biggest, blackest, nastiest, filthiest, vilest wonders on our planet I have ever seen, I decided to once again ask at work. My good buddy and Georgia native, “Monkey,” shrugged his shoulders denying any knowledge of ever having even killed one, let alone having one in his house. Several days after said conversation, I walked into his classsroom during a phone conversation he was having with his wife – on speaker phone. To my wondering ears, I heard his wife exclaiming in near panic that he was going to have to call a pesticide company that she could no longer tolerate living with roaches! Hmmm, I thought to myself as I exited. “The Season” my ass.
Another co-worker in denial offered to loan me a tool for my yard work. He gave me his garage access code as he was to be out of town. It was nearing sundown. Without hesitation, I approached the access box, entered the code and the garage door lifted while simultaneously turning on the light. I dashed into the garage only to be bombarded with a multitude of the hell-created vermin. They were rushing me from all sides. Screaming and swearing, I ran from his garage as quickly as I could. Watching them through the windshield from the safety my truck, I waited for them to settle back to their nests with full knowledge that they were being watched. That always makes them hide. They were not rushing back to their hell-holes. They were openly defying me, daring me to come back into their home. I waited a little longer, finally seeing the last one take cover under the lawn mower. Approaching the yard tool with much trepidation, I grabbed the tool and turned to run. At that exact moment, I saw my life flash in front of my eyes as they regrouped to launch another attack. I barely escaped with my life. Safely back in my truck, I sent my good buddy a text message thanking him for the tool, and more importantly, indulging in a little self-gratification as I hit the send button with the message that his attack cockroaches were protecting his home. I know I didn’t want to take anything other than the loaned tool and risk my clock cleaning by his gargantuan attack pests. Let’s see if he denies hosting these sons of Grendel in his house as the rest of the population in Georgia does. Maybe “The Season” just got extended.